Louder Than Thuder
by Ketakoshka Kathleen Castlionia
Summary: Sirius is dead, leaving his godson in ruins. On the brink of giving up, Harry, who just longs for things to be quiet, finds his reason for living... Voldemort.


**Louder Than Thunder is by The Devil Wears Prada.**

**So, today, June 22 is my birthday. This is my birthday present to myself. So please Review and enjoy.**

**Love, Keta.**

Louder Than Thunder

Harry cries.

His face is bent low to the floor as his tears leave clean streaks on his face as they ran through the dirt on his cheeks. The dimmed lights of the sconces are his only light in the church. Now Harry has never been a very religious boy, but honestly he always feels better when he's here.

He wails.

His right arm throbs and not just from the pain of holding himself up for so long. It's broken, but he has no way to fix it. He's only fifteen, therefor unable to use magic...

Sometimes he imagined breaking the decree just to see the look on his uncle's face as he used the Cruciatus Curse (the other Unforgivables just wouldn't do). He wanted to see him scream for mercy.

Harry knew he would never give it.

How could he with how the man had treated him? And all of his _'friends'_ who never listen, insisting that what he says isn't true, that he's only exaggerating. He's growing to hate them, his _'friends'_. In fact, he's beginning to hate everyone. Well, not everyone.

He still loves, and trusts, Remus, Luna, Neville, Fred and George. They've never led him astray, and at least they're still alive. Sirius isn't.

He collapses forward onto the ground, and his broken nose is pressed against the floor. He snarls, pushing himself up onto his feet and sending out another quick prayer:

"_**I have waited, and prayed**_

_**I have been patient, Father**_

_**Help me**_

_**Help me**_

_**I'm scared, petrified even**_

_**But, I cannot keep going**_

_**I can't fight him**_

_**It feels so wrong**_

_**They have to have the wrong person**_

_**Please help me!**_

_**Please, Father**_

_**Help me leave**_

_**Let your angels point me down my path**_

_**Amen"**_

Harry walks out of the church slowly, ever mindful of bruises and other minor injuries, at least they are minor to him. Three of his ribs are cracked, so is his cheekbone. One of Dudley's old turtlenecks that he never wore covers the bruises on his neck from where his cousin and gang attempted to strangle him. The sleeves, thankfully, reach down past his hands so no one can see the hand-shaped marks on his wrists as well as the make shift cast he had to make for his arm because his family's too cheap to take their freaky nephew to the hospital.

Not even when he was too ill to do anything did they get him help. In fact, they made it even worse by sending him outside into the snow of January to do all kinds of impossible tasks like deicing the lawn.

Back at his muggle family's house, the boy creeps in, hoping that they won't hear him. His uncle does however and throws a frying pan at his head. Luckily, Harry ducks just in time and thanks the Lord for his lucky streak. "Boy!" the fat whale screams, "where have you been?"

Knowing better then to ignore him, Harry answers. "I went to the church again, Uncle Vernon."

"Why?" His face turns purple with anger. Then again it's always like that around his nephew. "God doesn't want a freak like you!"

"How do you know?" Harry yells. "If you ask me, God would rather have me in Heaven then a pompous evil bastard like you!"

"Boy!" Harry, sensing danger, runs up the stairs to his room and hides under the bed, hoping he wouldn't follow him. The stairs are usually too much for his fat ass.

Unfortunately, the door opens and Harry is drug from his safety. "No!" he screams, desperation thick in his voice, trying to claw his way back underneath.

"Too late," Vernon growls. He grips the boy's hand hard, shattering the bones with ease. Harry shrieks loudly and attempts to get away. Vernon, being the fat sea lion he is, flops down, breaking the boy's legs and pelvis. He slams his elbow into Harry's side, busting one of his cracked ribs and puncturing one of his lungs.

He, Harry, cries when it's over, blood pouring from his wounds. His whole body hurts, stinging and broken. He can hardly move, and it hurts to even breathe.

He knows he's dying.

'_**Potter?'**_

Harry knows that voice, and now as he lies there ready to give up its sweet and comforting like a long lost friend. _'Voldemort?'_

'_**Why do you despair?'**_

'_I do not despair. I am actually rather happy.'_

'_**What do you mean? Why do you sound so weak if you are happy?'**_

'_I'm dying, Tom,' Harry says mentally, letting out a manic laugh. 'Dumbledore thought I was safe here but I'm not! My uncle has killed me! To think that he was worried that you'd kill me. What a surprise will he find! I almost wish I could have seen his face when he finds out what he's done!'_ The teenager's eyes begin to close.

'_**Harry! Harry, stay with me!'**_ the Dark Lord cries, sudden fear for no reason flooding him. He doesn't want the boy to die. _**'Harry!'**_ On impulse, he floods his magic across their link, healing the boy with it.

When Harry's eyes open again, he finds no afterlife, no angel to guide him away. He wakes up to his room in the Dursley's house. _'How?'_ he thinks. He remembers what happened suddenly. _'Tom saved me… he saved me from dying. Uncle Vernon almost killed me…'_ Harry smiles almost wickedly. _'I should return the favor.'_

The wizard creeps down the staircase and into the kitchen, picking up a knife as he goes. Suddenly, Petunia Dursley, his aunt turns around and lets out a shriek. Vernon turns around, face purpling with anger again. "Boy! How dare you scare her!"

Harry scowls. "I don't exactly care, Uncle Fat Ass." He trails his fingers along the counter tops, knife clenched in the other hand. "I just wanted to repay the favor you did by taking me into your home." His face splits into a maniacal grin, and he throws the knife. It imbeds itself into Dudley's neck, severing the main artery. He falls to the ground clutching at it, trying to stem the blood flow.

Harry's wand is out the next second, pointed at his aunt and uncle. Then she's bound to the chair, and he's stuck to the floor. Harry doesn't want to kill her in a brutal way, not like he wants to do to his uncle. 'Avada Kadavra,' he thinks, letting the green light take her away.

His cousin is not so lucky when Harry uses the Imperious upon him to make the fat boy stab himself with the knife in the brain. Harry snickers loudly as he watches him fall to the ground, dead.

His uncle, still stuck to the ground, cries out in horror, making Harry cackle louder. A Cruciatus is sent his way, making the man cry out in pain. "Uncle," Harry says in a sing song voice, "would you like to choose how you die?" Vernon nods, and a wide grin splits Harry's face in half. "Fast or slow. Which do you choose?"

"F-fast," he stutters, hoping that he'll go out just like his poor Pet.

"Okay!" Harry yells. "Sectumsempra!" Vernon screams, irritating Harry, as long deep slashes appear on his skin. Harry snarls at him, yelling for him to be quiet. Vernon however keeps screaming. "Silencio!" The screams are silent now even though he still tries to get them out. Harry lashes out with another cutting curse, growling. "Why?" he asks himself out loud. "Why do they all have to be so loud? They're always screaming for me to save them, but what if I don't want to? Why can't they all just shut up? What would it take for them to just stop?" He stops his rant, head hanging low, and he asks no one, "What would it take for things to be quiet?" He sighs and whispers the Killing Curse, watching dissatisfied as he dies. He's not the one that needs to die.

'_**Harry?'**_

'_Hello, Tom.'_

'_**Is it done?'**_

'_Yeah. Come and get me.'_ Harry while waiting takes some of his uncle's blood and writes his final words on the matter on the wall above the dead bodies. A loud crack sounds outside, letting him know the Dark Lord's outside. "I'm ready," he whispers and takes the offered hand. They apperate away, leaving the final words on the wall.

"_**What would it for things to be quiet?"**_

**So if you would like, I'll write a sequel to this called Where Butterflies Never Die. But you'll have to request it.**

**Happy my birthday!**


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